Warrior for the Light
by Raven28
Summary: Harry is not just the heir to Merlin and Gryffindor, he is Merlin and Gryffindor. Harry's past lives come back to show him his powers. Language, child abuse
1. Mr. Potter, I Presume?

None of the familiar things are mine. I don't charge for you to read this, so chances are I'm making no money, and if you don't believe me, try to sue me and discover that I have no money. This fic will not get terribly graphic, there's mention of child abuse and a slight hinting at sexual abuse between Harry and his Uncle (but this is not a graphic scene, nor is extensive. The professors save Harry before anything too terrible happens.)

The first chapter is very slow, but they do pick up, I promise. Please read through to chapter two or three before you decide to start an online bush fire with your flaming, and only constructive flames please. 

Harry and His Past Lives

Chapter One: "Mr. Potter, I Presume?"

Harry Potter found himself in quite the dilemma from nearly the moment he arrived back at the Dursley's following his fourth, and most trying year, at Hogwarts. He couldn't say what he found most distressing or disturbing about his current predicament, whether it be his Uncle's fat, violently magenta face, or the fists that kept ramming into his chest. Both were quite annoying, but he figured the fists, at least, would only leave a bruise or a cracked rib, but his uncles face….that was bound to cause psychological scarring. It was so fat and unnatural when twisted up in a demonic rage. 

Harry shuddered to himself and stayed in his fetal position, hands covering his chest to the best of their abilities. He didn't need to protect his face. His uncle wasn't fool enough to hit the boy anywhere obvious. Apparently the seeping scars and lashes on his back were miraculously unnoticeable to the world, or much less noticeable than a bruise on the face was. Even in public school, back when his uncle beat him year around, he had only managed to rouse the suspicions of one teacher, and she was idiot enough to let him go with the infamous, "I fell down the stairs because I'm a clumsy idiot" line. He had a black eye (rare, though his uncle did occasionally forget where he should hit the boy) and after gym class that day, his back had begun to bleed. Apparently the teacher actually thought stairs capable of giving someone welts and scars.

Harry sighed and bit his lip as he felt the belt for the first time that night. He didn't know if he should be relieved or worried. The belt usually signaled the end of the nights torment. It was used when his uncle was beginning to tire. It was also the most painful and tedious for Harry. He refused to cry out. He didn't scream. Not even a wet glaze had gathered behind his eye. He had learned long ago not to cry and not to give him the satisfaction of a plea or single tear. The only sign of any anguish was his ravished lip bleeding beneath his grinding teeth and the clentching and unclenching of his fists as he tried to stay strong.

Finally, after a good half hour of kicking and punching and twenty minutes of the belt bearing down on his legs, back, and chest, Harry finally found himself alone in his room. He took a deep, steadying breath and breathed back out, wincing with a slight cry as his chest felt on the verge of collapse with his breaths. He used his arms, which were usually his strongest limbs during the summer months, to pull himself up to a sitting position. He leaned forward gently and ruffled his hand through his raven black hair, sending the sweaty, tangle mess into more disarray than before. A soft clicking grabbed his attention, and he turned to find Hedgewig clicking her beak while bobbing her head at some parchment. Harry looked at her softly before he shook his head. The owl gave a stern, scolding look, as though it were looking at an insolent child, but Harry wouldn't give, and so the owl flew to Harry's shoulder and clipped lovingly at his ear.

Hedgewig had gotten used to all of this by now, and after every beating, she motioned towards a parchment, practically begging for Harry to swallow his foolish pride and write about it to somebody. Anybody. Harry had always refused, and he couldn't say why. Even sitting there, too tired to move and in to much pain to sleep, he knew he was being daft. Dumbledore would never leave Harry here if he knew what went on. Being safe while living with assholes was one thing, being safe from one psychopath so you could be tortured and beaten by a whole pack of related psychos was something else. Harry, however, had kept his secret and kept it well. Everyone knew that Harry was sometimes put on a severe diet, but they never imagined that he was going through this every night. He told Ron the bruises he spotted were from Dudley and the smaller scars Ron had spotted were cuts and scrapes from Quidditch or muggle sports Harry claimed to have played once (sort of true if Harry Hunting was considering a muggle sport.) Harry never let his back show. He knew he wouldn't be able to explain it so simply. Even during the second task at the Tournament, he had jumped in the water with a full school robe on. 

It was more a sense of shame than anything. The Daily Prophet would have a field day if they found out. And Voldemort…Voldemort would have an irritable spawn of kittens if he ever found out that the idiot boy who managed to best him four times actually laid down and got pummeled by his muggle uncle.

Of course, the longer he let it go without talking, the harder it was for him to even imagine talking to someone about it. Lately, it had been getting worse, too. Another reason for Hedgewig to be so concerned. Harry had begun to have a series of nightmares and visions. Each equally vague. Sometimes they would be Voldemort related, but most of them weren't. Most of them felt ancient, like it contained the past. The most Harry had gotten out of his dreams, however, was emotions. He always felt honor and duty, love and purity flowing around him like a tornado and washing over him like a tidal wave, and then he'd feel pain, pain beyond pain as he was nearly torn apart by the quaking winds and churning seas. He'd wake up screaming, drenched in a sweat that seemed readily serious about drowning him. Most of the time, he found out the hard way that it was actually his uncle's fist pounding that woke him up rather than the pain from the dream. He almost feared sleeping for fear another one would come, but he couldn't do that forever. He had already been without sleep for five days, and his uncles beating for this morning's burnt toast had zapped all of his energy. Harry felt himself drift, his eyes close, he body relaxing against the side of the bed despite the screaming of every nerve ending in his back.

Black. That's all everything was, until the tidal wave of white light came washing over him, drenching him in humbleness and honor. Harry shivered as the water felt like it was drenching him, freezing his insides and working its way to his skin. This wave knew him inside out, but Harry was still at a loss about the wave. He waited as the light began to spin around him, as the black began to get caught up in the movement, and suddenly all there was in the world was the tornado, the white water rising like liquid light to his knees, and himself. He closed his eyes and bit his lip as the water rose swiftly, edging towards his belly button. The wind whipped his hair around and tugged at his robes. Robes? Harry looked down to find his baggy jeans and white tee-shirt. He blinked, then shrugged. and decided that it was just a dream. Odd things happened in dreams. He once had a dream he was Dudley's seat cushion and kept getting squashed. So why worry about robes?

He bit his lip again as the water reached his chest where it seemed to wait momentarily. The wind seemed to die a bit, becoming almost caressing and soothing, nearly coaxing. But Harry, after all the trauma and tragedy, was not a child to be soothed or calmed by gentleness. He was too strong, and too stubborn, to fall for such ploys. The wave seemed to sigh inwardly before trying once more. It reached out with its light, reaching into Harry's insides. Harry froze up instantly. The freezing sensation of the wave delving into his soul wasn't painful, but the violation of it was. The wave seemed to almost ask permission to go further into the murky substance of Harry, but the boy hated that it hadn't bothered to ask earlier, and he hated the feel of the light exploring him. He tensed and stubbornly demanded it to leave, ordering himself to wake up.

The light, however, sensed his emotions, as every other dream in the past, and began to pound into his soul, drilling into his core being. Harry fought bravely against it, putting his whole mind to work to force it out. It wasn't working. The light continued further and further in, freezing all of Harry's body and spirit as it wound deeper and deeper, until it came to a sort of wall constructed of dreams and aspirations. The light didn't ask for permission, it immediately rammed into the wall, but Harry panicked when he sensed the light there. He didn't know why, but he knew he couldn't let it fall. 

He summoned every magical power in him and enforced the wall. And the war began. The wind picked up stronger than before and began to tear at his very skin. The water began to rise, threatening him with its pain. Still, Harry refused to give it entry. The light was summoning all its power, showing the boy its majesty. Still, he fought. The water was nearly to his nose, the wind began to act as a hand, pushing the boy to the floor and beneath the water's surface. He sputtered as he was pushed under, and then tried to concentrate on the wall, ignoring the burning in his lungs. The currents picked up and began to pull his body in various directions, and then the light began to administer pain to make the wall crumble. A thousand crucios seemed to ring through his body, loud and clear. He started to scream as white, blinding pain was blinding him to everything, but all he got was a gallon of water in his lungs. He was choking on the water, on the feel of it, and then he started screaming again and more water flooded him. The pain increased. His eyes were clamped shut and rolling in his head, and his clenching fist was drawing blood from his palm. 

He felt the wall crumble slightly. The sense of responsibility leaked out with duty and love tinged with hatred. His eyes suddenly relaxed a bit, the pain lessened, though still wracking him with excruciating torture. He looked straight ahead, into the abyss that was the ocean drowning him, but a haze clouded his vision. He felt like he was staring through many layers of magic and emotion. Many levels of dream and hopes. All laid together to form a mighty wall. The light, after removing the first barrier, was trying to strip the second coat. Pain flooded him again as it fell. He screamed again. This pain was tearing him into pieces, clawing at his soul and inner gut.

The haze began to lift with the second layer, and he could see a figure standing on the other side of the wall, behind the slightly translucent protections surrounding him. The figure wore scarlet robes and seemed to hold a staff. The pain increased beyond comprehension as the third barrier fell. He could only hope he would drown or go numb. Death would be welcomed at this point. 

The figure on the other side of the vision seemed to be looking at him oddly and sympathetically. Harry felt support and encouragement being sent through the walls into his system.

"Mr. Potter, I presume?" the figure said in a strangely familiar voice, his now clearer green eyes gazing out at him with concern, fondness, and regret. Harry's emotions were reeling. Part of him felt strongly better with the wall coming down, while the other was screaming and crying. Begging for a break. 

Harry shut his eyes and tried to close the pain out as he knew this must be it. The last wall would come down and he would have to face this man, this light, and the horrid torture that went with it. He only hoped this was not one of Voldemort's tricks nor an everlasting sort of deal. He didn't feel much like torture for all of eternity. He waited for the pain, and finally it came. A series of blows reined down on him from what seemed to be everywhere. He felt his chest heaving up and down, felt the cracking of ribs as they were shifted beneath a fist. His back screamed again, and his throat felt hoarse from screaming and filled with the coppery taste of blood.

Harry immediately opened his eyes. This was a different pain. It wasn't working from his insides. His uncle's fat face was in view, twisted up in a hideous scrowl. His eyes glinted maliciously, promising pain. And then the fist came down again.


	2. Rediscovery

Own Nothing. There's a tad bit of swearing, and the story's still picking up its momentum here.

Chapter Two: Meeting Old Friend

His uncle was pissed. More so than usual. Harry had his uncle on the color system, and it worked quite well. Purple meant a coma and nice nap from all his chores at the least, even if most of his bones were broken. A magenta was painful, but only the dark scarlet color meant anything long term. A nice putridly pale or slightly flushed face meant a swift kick or two, but nothing more. His uncle's face this time around defied coloring. It was the most horrible combination of skin colors imaginable. Harry half expected Crayola to kick down the door and either arrest him for breaking the natural order of colors or demand to know what he called the new evil combination. Evil. That was a good name, he thought. That would be the new category in his face color system. It was oddly purplish, but his cheeks were flushed magenta, and his eyes were bulging, and his pupils were dilated, making them appear black. The veins in his neck and forehead were throbbing in coordination with each merciless pound into the boy. He looked like he had been sent straight from hell.

Harry was beaten with the fists and legs until he felt himself nearly ready to slide into blissful, or sort of restful, unconsciousness. But his uncle suddenly left the room.

"Don't you move, boy, you hear?!" his uncle had bellowed as he left. Harry had smirked. 

"Unless you expect me to slither to the stairs, I'd say you have no problem," Harry commented dryly, not carrying whether or not his voice carried to his uncle. His legs were a horrible mess after everything, and he was in no condition to even think of movement. He was about to roll over and shut his eyes to the pain when his uncle returned with an armful of things. Harry looked at him curiously and then with horror. His uncle dropped a kitchen knife and baseball bat onto the bed. He grabbed the knife and headed back to the child. Harry lost the color in his face, if there had been any left to loose, and for the first time in over ten years, he showed fear clear as day on his face.

"I've had enough of you're screaming, or you're waking me up, or you being in my bloody house! And you don't bloody learn. Well, you'll learn this time. I'll carve the lessons into you. You've ruined my life boy! You and you're abnormality. I can't even invite dinner guests over because you'll blow them up! I can't sleep at night because you scream bloody murder! I can't…" Harry lost track of his uncle's rambling as the knife cut into his arm. The cuts were shallow, but his uncle became greedy to see the steady blood flow, and they became a bit deeper. Harry was squeezing his eyes shut against the image of his blood spurting like a fountain from his arteries with every heart beat. At least I still have a heart beat, he decided. His uncle tossed the knife aside and then went for the baseball bat. Harry bit right through his lip as the blows continued over and over. He heard too many bones cracking too count them all. He was wondering why he was still conscious, why he hadn't gone numb, then he remember that the gods hated him and he had to live with the pain. Finally the belt came off, and by then, Harry had begun to drift. He was nearly asleep when his uncle's cold laugh filled his ears. He vaguely felt a pair of cold, drunken lips crushing onto his own, licking at the blood and sucking roughly. His uncle had plopped on top of him, his hands clawing at Harry's young flesh. Harry had only a few seconds to realize the horror of the situation, to struggle beneath the Titanic weight against him, to attempt to push his uncle's tongue back into his respective mouth, and then his uncle slammed his face into the bed frame, and Harry felt himself drift off.

Scarlet robes were billowing out in front of him, draped around a graceful, tall man with a slim but firm build. His green eyes were magnificent and bright, glittering like stars with even more mirth than Dumbledore could manage. His hair was a bit ruffled as it fell in tossed waves by his eyes. Harry drew in a startled breath as he realized he was standing in front of…himself? That couldn't be right. Harry shook his head and blinked. Nope, still there. Standing tall, with a smile, and those damn glittering eyes was his twin. The man looked older than Harry, probably twenty three, and in his right hand was an old gold staff than radiated power.

"Well then, Mr.Potter, you seem to have eluded us for quite some time, but no matter. You're here now," he said with a wide smile.

"Who are you?" Harry stuttered out. He felt like an idiot, and a rude one at that, but his manners were never up to par. It's not as though the Dursley's showed him how to properly entertain guests, and he never had any friends growing up with which to practice chit-chat. Harry's cheeks flushed red as he regretted his words, but the man in front of him seemed to laugh softly.

"That's a difficult question to answer Mr.Potter. Perhaps I could ask you the same question." Harry looked dumbfounded now, and the man found that even more hilarious. 

"You've been calling me by my name, so I assume you know me," Harry replied with an edge of confession.

"Not the question I asked Mr. Potter. I know very well who you are. The question I'm asking is whether or not you know." The man smiled again as he looked into an image of his younger self. Did I always look that dazed when I was confused, he wondered. No wonder the boy has trouble with Snape. He must look like a bludger hit him every time he tries anything in that ridiculous class. 

"What's going on?" Harry asked with a bit more confidence. His dazed look changed over to stubbornness and annoyance. The older man nodded. That was more like it. 

"Very well then. I am Godric Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, though some slightly older and even longer dead people might refer to me as Merlin or even King Arthur. This day in age I believe people are running around calling me Harold James Potter, or Potty if I recall the Slytherin joke correctly." Harry went back to his bludger face.

"Excuse me?" Merlin/Godric/Potter smiled again.

"I am a whisper, Harry, of you're past lives. In you're past, you have in fact been the great sorcerer Merlin, and then were reincarnated to become Godric Gryffindor. You're recent reincarnation was for a Harry Potter."

"You're insane," Harry replied dumbly with disbelief.

"Arguing with yourself, Mr. Potter?" asked a soft, silky feminine voice. Harry turned quickly to face what could only be called light. Pure light streaming in front of him. It seemed to be the essence of the world, of life, of magic. It radiated love and laughter, and power that washed over Harry like the sun conquering a shadow. It was an intoxication to be so close to such purity. The light quickly began to take shape, and with seconds, in front of him there was a glowing goddess. The light around her slowly faded. She looked suddenly mortal and normal. Her black as midnight hair cascaded in ringlets down her back and was a stark contrast to her ivory white robes which clung to her slightly before billowing out at the hips slightly. Her eyes were a clear blue that seemed like whirlpools constantly in motion, and her lips were blood red. She was beautiful, perfect. The older Harry smirked and smiled, as did the woman.

"If you're quite done gaping at the Light, Mr. Potter, I do believe you were asking for an explanation?" Harry turned to his other self slowly before he seemed to shake off the shock of the gorgeous woman before him. He blushed deeply and cast an apologetic glance toward the Light. The woman smiled knowingly. She knew this boy better than he knew himself.

"You're mistaken," Harry said confidently, gaze set and without compromise. "I'm not even a good wizard. Hermione beats me in every class. Hell, half the school beats me in the classes. I'm a mediocre wizard, maybe in the top 40%, but nothing to shout power. If I can't even pass with good grades in basic spells, I don't understand how you can possibly presume that I was Merlin and Godric. You've got the wrong kid. Now, please, return me back to reality. I was in the middle of a much needed rest."

"What about Voldemort?" the Light asked casually, secretly hoping the boy wouldn't find the magic to put up another mental wall and return to his body. The boy wouldn't want to be in his body right now. Luckily, Harry looked at her with pure annoyance this time. Perfect, she thought, knowing full well Harry was stubborn and would stay to argue until she sent him back, preferably when his uncle was done beating him. She shuddered, but Harry was in a fury and didn't notice.

"Is that what this assumption is about?" he asked roughly. "Listen, I survived as a child because of my mother's protection. Why don't you go ask her if she was Merlin or Godric in a past life?"

"You've survived him three times not counting when you were a child," the other Harry said softly but with a matter of fact voice. Harry nodded.

"Yea. What a marvelous victory for our side. I escaped three times, barely and with nothing but dumb luck. The first time I survived only because of my mother's protection, yet again. The second time, I needed a bird to throw a bloody hat on my head before I had any idea of what I was doing, and the third time I managed to bring the bloody bastard back, get a classmate killed, and get my arse kicked in front of a bunch of Death Eaters. What wonderful victories for the side of good," Harry said with sarcasm, but he turned serious suddenly. "I'm sure Merlin and Godric would be rolling over in their graves if they knew you were even daring to compare them to me."

"You're a silly boy," the Light said with a smile. "If you're modesty weren't so adorable I would find this inexpressibly annoying." Harry could hear the laugh behind her words. "Let me let you in on a secret, Harry. In the entire history of the entire wizarding world, do you imagine not one mother had the courage to sacrifice herself for her child? You were not the only loved child in history, you know. Many mothers have thrown their lives into death curses to block their children, their husbands, their parents…it is not a new occurrence. But none, and I do mean absolutely none of these people have ever survived an avadra kedavra. It's true that their attacker couldn't physical touch them, but that had nothing to do with blocking spells. You blocked that spell of your own accord."

"Then why couldn't I stop it at the third tournament?" Harry demanded.

"You could have," the other Harry replied, "and in a way you did. You made Voldemort's wand regurgitate it's spells. Beating Voldemort in a tug of war of raw magic is no easy task. Beating his imperio is a bit easier, but not by much. Dumbledore would have been hard pressed to do either, and he's at the peak of his powers."

"You've been husseling you're teachers and friends for four years now. But you've been lying to yourself even more."

"Why would I do that? I have no reason to lock up my…"

"But don't you?" the other Harry cut in. "You're modesty and humility keep you honest, Harry, but they keep you too humble. You've wanted nothing more than to be normal. Every lifetime you live, all you want is to be normal. You, therefore, create quite impressive mental walls against your power to make yourself more normal. It works, as you've noticed. Like you said, you're not the top of your class. Chances are you try not to go first during demonstrations because you subconsciously watch what level the other students are able to do something, and then you copy their mistakes into what could be a flawless spell. However, the fact that you have survived Voldemort demonstrates that you are able to access your powers when you have need of them."

"Why am I here?" Harry asked a bit softer. "You were the one in my dream, trying to force the wall down with all that pain?" Harry looked straight at the Light, who nodded.

"Yes. Voldemort is back, and it is your job to destroy him. You needed the wall down so you could accept your powers and use them to destroy him. You also needed to remember your destiny, your past."

"I'm assuming not everyone has a past life?" Harry asked quietly, stunned to polite curiousity. It was all bullshit, of course, but he'd play along till he found all the flaws in their theory, then bombard them at once with it all.

"No. Past lives are special. Everyone is given a time on earth, a time in which their soul lives out and tests itself against earthly greed and evil. They are judged upon passing, and most souls live peacefully for all of eternity, happily in the clouds, in the Light."

"Why am I different?" Harry demanded.

"In you're lifetime you waged a war against the darkness for the Light. You were pure, modest, humble, respectful, responsible, and honor bound. I have sensed the division between the Dark and the Light for some time now, and I sensed the upcoming battles, but I'm little more than a guide for humans. I'm a not an actual player. I called on you to be my warrior in the mortal realm, my player for the Light. The Dark will always have its warriors, be it Slytherin or Voldemort or Grindewald. There wasn't always a guarantee, however, that there would be a hero. When I sensed the Light wavering, when I sensed an absence of a humanly guide for mortal men, I sent you. I sent you to dispose of Slytherin, though that had a rather interesting ending, and I sent you to dispose of Voldemort."

"Professor Dumbledore is a powerful wizard, he could have handled it. He's you're hero."

"He is an honorable man and he will be rewarded, but he's not as strong as you are, and even then, the old man needs a rest. He's been my hero in the past, with Grindewald. He proved himself. This battle, however, it not his. Voldemort is stronger than Grindewald, and he has invoked darkness itself. It is a battle between Heaven and Hell, Harry, and I chose you to fight for the Light. I chose you, Mr. Potter, the day you tried to pull a sword out of the stone."

"I thought you said I was Merlin. How did I ever become King Arthur?" The Light laughed sweetly. 

"There never was a Merlin. You invented him. The sword called to you, fate called to you, and you answered. The only way the sword could be drawn however was if the person agreed to wield it in my name, to dedicate their souls to me, to give life after life in the name of something greater than themselves. No one in all of England nor the world could answer that vow, but you were pure enough to answer, and good enough to pull the sword. In return, you received Camelot. Queen Mab, however, was quite pissed off to discover a new power, a power of the Light. She used some spells to tempt you, and your half sister gave birth to your child. This child had a lay to the throne, so you're sister, before your child could even walk, declared war. You're men were older than you were, they were more experienced in politics, and you knew damn well they wouldn't like taking orders from a thirteen year old. So you created Merlin, a powerful, old, wise wizard your men could listen to without feeling immasculated. In political affairs, you stayed the king and had used a glamour on your best friend and near brother, Lancelot. He took on the appearance of your fabled Merlin. In battle, you switched. You took the spell to turn into Merlin, and you cast a spell to turn him into the king. Despite the fables, you weren't actually all that angry with him when he fell in love with your wife. You were happy for them. The two wanted to live in some peace, and you thought you'd have Mab in less than a few short months, so you arranged the execution and their safe escape. You then used your next closest knight to make the Merlin/Arthur transformation, his name was William."

"Any questions?" the other Harry asked. Harry looked at him, stunned from the intricate web of lies this King Arthur had managed to weave.

"Only a million," Harry replied.

"That all?" the other asked with a smirk? "They should be answered soon. What we're going to do is merge all three of the lives together, so that you'll remember what you've done and what spells you know."

"Then why the hell did you bother boring me to death?" Harry demanded. 

"Weaving lifetimes together is difficult. Godric's life shouldn't be a problem. It was more recent. Arthur was a long time ago, and the intricate web of plots and lies is a bit complicated. Short of having you live the entire thing over, we wouldn't be able to make you understand all of it just by spells. Lifetimes are like old books that you're current lifetime reads. The older the book, the more lingo and customs you won't understand, the more words you can't quite make out on the page. Also, you're going to be reinturpretting the book from your new life, so that changes the story as well. Like I said, Godric's lifetime will be much easier for you to recall. The fact that you had strong emotional ties in that life will help. You'll probably remember everything from that life easily."

"The only part of the lives you will actually relive will be your vows. You relive them every time you rediscover your natural powers so that you remember what you promised vividly. The rest of the memories will flash and just come to you. So, you ready?" the other Harry asked. 

Harry nodded slowly, figuring he could just laugh at them when it failed. But fail it did not. The Light dwelved into him again, but this time, there was no walls, she was pulling all his lives together and melding them, weaving them like cloth, pulling the other Harry into the boy's body and weaving their minds together again. Harry gasped as he felt memories returning. 

The men had all tried to pull the sword, but none could do it. The air was damp with defeat and annoyance. The smell of war still clung to the clouds. England was in peril. The wizarding world was at war with itself along with the muggle world. Arthur stood there, a thirteen year old wizarding servant, gazing in awe and wonderment at the mighty sword. It wasn't the sword itself that drew him there, it was the promise of it. The sword was singing a beautiful song, a calming melody that brought peace or mind and heart. The sword offered peace. Arthur, for the life of him, wanted to bring harmony to the chaos. His own mother had been murdered in the name of war. He had no heart for it. The smell of blood in the air was nauseating, and so the boy stepped towards the sword. Luckily for him, the singing intensified, calling him ever forward, and he didn't hear the laughing of the fully grown, defeated men behind him. 

"This is not a sword to be drawn," a feminine voice called from inside Arthur's head. She was powerful and convincing, but Arthur could nearly hear the blaring of war trumpets and the beat of war drums. He had visions at night of more carnage and horrors, and even if they were just nightmares, their basis and cause laid in reality. 

"We need the sword, Lady," Arthur replied, kneeling on one knee in front of the stone as he did for the nobility. This woman spoke as a noble, and he had no doubt about her lineage or importance.

"What do you need it for?" the woman asked harshly.

"Peace," Arthur had replied without hesitation. The Lady laughed, a bit softer this time.

"You are very young, dear Arthur. Very young and very nieve. You would call upon a sword, a weapon of destruction and war, to make a bid for peace?"

"You're sword of destruction sings with the reassurance of harmony, my Lady."

"Does not change the fact, dear Arthur, that you would be forced to strike men down with this sword in a bid for peace. You would have to spill blood, kill and murder with this weapon, in order to demand peace." The Lady was speaking softer now, almost friendly, but the cold edge to her voice remained. How odd, she thought, that she threw a gauntlet down for a warrior, and ended up with a child.

"Not all weapons are for murder, and not all death is pointless. It's not always what you have to strike down that matters, but what you allow to remain standing. I would not use the sword as a weapon in a bloody fight of power. I would use it as a tool to bring peace back to this world."

"This is not a sword to be drawn lightly, Arthur. Pulling it from it's stone, you will have a tool of war and of peace. A power which you could wield to your own liking. For this reason, I have restrictions on the sword. You have to consider carefully, dear child. The weight of the world is not something a man should take on carelessly, nor should a child take at all."

"I want to end the blood shed. What are your conditions?"

"Pulling the sword, you will be named king. The king before you was supposed to hold the sword, but he proved unworthy, so I cast the sword into this rock and had the king make it clear to his people before his death that the sword is his heir to the throne, and whoever pulls it will be worthy to sit over his lands and watch over his people. The people will honor the kings last will and make you king, but it will be up to you to ensure that they continue to do so. You will be given land to rule over. I will let you decide where you want to resettle, and I will bless the land for you. You are already a great wizard, child, and I sense a great deal of destiny in you whether you pull the sword or not. Your legends will thrive regardless once you discover your abilities. However, if you do pull the sword, I will grant you a vision of the magical essence of the world. It is a sight reserved only for Gods, but I will grant it to you so that you might understand the nature of the world, of harmony, or war, of love and Light. The vision I will show you will help you develop your powers beyond imagination."

"You're offering this to me?" Arthur asked in shock. "I don't need all of that."

"No, you don't. You, if I am correct, would be perfectly happy to just pull the sword, have peace magically reign through the universe, and then hand over the kingdom to someone more blood worthy of the throne. You'd be happier living a quiet life in the woods with mediocre powers and no great destiny. No, Arthur, you don't need anything the sword offers except the power to try and earn peace. Which is why _I _need someone to pull the sword and accept those conditions.

"I need a warrior. I need a king, a leader, who can guide mortal men when I cannot. The Light of magic and goodness is slipping, and the world is falling into darkness. I am not a mortal. I cannot directly interfere with the lives of men, but I can ask a mortal to serve me. I am asking whoever pulls this sword to pledge their life to me. You must wage my battles against darkness as well as your own. Your soul will be dedicated to me so that in the future I might be able to call upon you, to reincarnate you to wage another battle. You will be a warrior of the light."

"What do I have to give up for this gift, for this ability to fight for the Light?"

"You're peace, Arthur. Most souls live in peace after their deaths, you will not. You will stay with me until I need you mortal, and you will be reincarnated to fight again. You're whole life, Arthur, will become a war against the darkness. You'll earn peace for the world, but you'll never experience it. You will never be normal nor inconspicuous. You're magic could make you great with or without me, but with me you won't be able to hide it as you're doing so well right now. I will not allow it. You'll be honored and famed for your powers, and you'll be feared for them. None of your lives will be easy. In addition, because I offer you sight of the true Light, a godly sight of what I, a God, look like and what makes up the earth, magic, and love, your magic will become mingled with mine. Your mortal abilities will be tinged with my godly powers. It will make you more powerful and will help me to help you should you be in a bind. However, if ever darkness is defeated, after you have fulfilled your pledge to me, I will take your magic. I cannot take back my gifts to you. You will always remember the power and the sight, but I will not have someone so powerful running around without restrictions, and without your soul dedicated to me, you would be free to take over the world. Power corrupts, Arthur, and whether you'd be willing or not, it could corrupt you. If ever this war ends, I will leave you, and I will leave you as a muggle."

Arthur looked stunned. He would have to wage war for this entire lifetime, for all of eternity possibly? And when, if ever, his war was truly fought and ended, then he would loose his gifts, his world? He didn't want to be famous, or king, or great…but he loved magic. He loved the magical creatures, the spells, and connection he had with the world. Magic was his world. The wizarding world was his home. Could he just give up everything for peace? For the Light? For his Mother? 

"You have my soul, my Lady. You can have this life and all that follow. You have my magic and I implore you to take it with you when I fulfill my pledge. I will earn peace and I will fight the Darkness. Let me pull the sword, my Lady. I am willing to accept the weight of the world on my shoulders, so long as you promise your support and give your blessing." 

The Light looked down on the child. He was young, too young, but there was no one else. He even agreed to give up his magic, a hefty price for any wizard, but especially for one with his level of magic. Even if the boy feared his own greatness, his power must have beat continually in him, a life source he clung to whether he wanted that much power of not. He had agreed to give up everything, however, and in return for nothing he truly wanted...except peace. He was pure and innocent, true, honorable, powerful, and idealistic. In spite of herself, she had to admit he was perfect. His want for peace was sincere, and his humble attitude would prevent him from being corrupted by his powers.

"Off your knees, King Arthur. You have proven yourself worthy to a Goddess today. You never need bow to _anyone_. You are great, and you will be great. Stand tall and proud, your majesty, and accept your destiny." Arthur stood slowly and raised his eyes to the sword. The singing was intensified. The laughing was still occurring, as though he hadn't been on his knees for half hour. He stepped forward and took a deep breath, feeling the surprising warm and welcoming handle beneath his hand. Power was singing through the blade, and with a last deep breath of what it was to be free and innocent, a child in mind and heart, Arthur took one long pull and wrenched the sword free, feeling every bit of manhood fall upon him at once. The laughing stopped and all was eerily silent as Arthur held the sword up, the blade dancing white with Light and power. 

"All Hail, King Arthur!" a voice called from the crowd, and the rest eventually followed. Arthur turned and smiled sweetly, fully aware of his new gifts, of his power, but most of all, his responsibility to the Lady.

He remembered Lancelot and his wife after that. Most of all, he remembered Ravenclaw and the way she danced and her hips swayed. The way her eyes glittered periwinkle blue to match her robes. Two lifetimes were flashing before him, and the Light was right. With so many lives, so many years, it was hard to remember everything. Arthur's lifetime felt like memories one had from late childhood. They were there, but they were misty and vague at best. He, luckily, remembered most of his spells, his tactics, his enemies. He could plan an attack against Queen Mab right now, he thought with a smile. Emotional tries were usually an anchor, he realized. He cold recall Lancelot vividly, but the other men of the round table were ghostly faces he couldn't place. Finally the Light appeared back in her feminine form and smiled. Harry smiled back.

"I dare say every time you do this, Lady, it gets harder," Harry said knowingly, realizing that the transition from Arthur to Godric had been much easier and he hadn't fought the Light so severely in his visions. The Light smiled.

"You're current lifetime and situation with your uncle has made you stronger, but it's made you a bit more guarded. Nothing Ravenclaw can't cure, I'm sure," she said with a smile. Now, it's time for you to go do my bidding. Save the Light, Harry." Harry nodded and smiled teasingly.

"Have I ever failed you, my Lady?" he replied as he turned to walk away towards the edge of the vision, back to reality.

"Oh…and Harry," Harry turned quickly to see the Light dissolving into beautiful pure energy again, "Do try to have some fun." Harry smiled and threw a playful numb curse at the Light. She absorbed it and then screeched. "Bloody hell, Potter…" Harry smirked as he stepped off the edge and slammed into his body. Something wasn't right, he thought. His body felt cold, and his eyes weren't opening. Oh shit, he thought bitterly as he was suddenly thrown out of his body, and he gazed down in shock at his own corpse. When had this happened?

The blood circling his body in the black pavement told him his uncle was to blame. Paramedics had his shirt open and were pounding into his chest with CPR. Their mouths clamped onto his. He looked up and blushed before he felt a single tear slide down his face. Most of his professors were gathered in a tight single file line so everyone could watch, even if no one wanted to. Even Snape looked green and ready to puke as Harry's own blood leaked across in a bigger puddle that threatened to stain the hems of his slightly too long robes. Dumbledore looked grave with an angry, fierce cold look to his eyes. Hagrid was weeping. Minera was wiping at silent tears down her cheeks, and Sirius whined pathetically as a dog at Remus Lupin's heels. The paramedics finally got a crash cart out and charged it. Harry looked on and prayed. He couldn't die. He couldn't leave them. What would happen to his godfather? His professors? Oh God…Ron and Hermione? He had the power now to save them, to protect them. He could feel it pulsing beneath his fingers, and now he was dead. He wished there was a spell, but there was none for the magical world. Dead was dead. It was natural. It was not to be tampered with. Odd how muggles, supposedly weaker than us, managed to work magic that could subvert the laws of nature itself. I prayed silently, watching my body jump five feet in the air before thumping down, still dead. Minerva turned away and I couldn't blame her. That horrible screeching, flat beep would have killed me if I hadn't already been dead. Another charge, another five foot jump, and….beep, beep, beep. The heart rhythm began again. Harry felt his soul being pulled as though by a portkey and he was slammed into his body again. He lifted his eyelids as though they were lead weights. He could hear the sighs of his teachers and the pride of the paramedics as they grabbed him and got him in the ambulance. Lupin and the dog were allowed to ride the way over. The others agreed to deal with the Dursleys and then apparate over, and it was decidedly best if Sirius not be around to face the horrid relative. They'd be dead before the words, "What the fuck?" could even be uttered.


	3. Did They Get My Good Side?

Nothing in this entire story is owned by me except the plot, and I make no $.

****

This Chapter is a transition, so don't expect anything too terribly marvelous. Harry's beating plays a role later, but it did leave certain elements that I had to iron out before I could continue. So this is sort of the ironing chapter. The next chapter, Harry will be at the Weasley's, he will talk to the Light chic again, and he will began to invoke some power. Following the next chapter he will began to use his powers, and I promise a bit of action too. Harry is a complicated figure right now because he is essentially three different people, so the next two chapters explain and demonstrate this, and then I put it to use. It takes Harry awhile to accept everything and actually become a Merlin, but I hope I keep you interested till then. There will be a few turns, and a battle before that.

****

As apologies for the slow start, I will update quickly until the plot begins to thicken, which should be soon, if you can just have a little patience with it. I think it will be worth the wait, but it might not be unless I do take the time to set the groundwork. 

I don't mind flames, but be constructive not destructive with 'em.

Chapter Three: Did They Get My Good Side?

Harry passed out again in the ambulance, though he did his best to give Sirius and Remus some reassurance. Didn't seem to work, however. Must have been the gushing blood, Harry decided before he welcomed the darkness. 

The paramedics, in the meantime, were cursing at Sirius and yelling about having a dog in the ambulance, but there had been something about Dumbledore that they were scared to cross. The paramedics managed to slow the bleeding and get him in a slightly more stable condition. They got him some blood and began a transfusion, though he would need more, a lot more. They couldn't do much else for his bruises, hemorrhaging, or crushed chest. 

The paramedics rushed him into the hospital, and the boy was brought up to the OR almost immediately. Sirius and Remus sat in the waiting room where they were soon joined by the rest of the professors and the Weasleys. Hermione showed up a bit later, tears streaming down her face as she hugged Ron, who looked ghastly pale. The rest of the teachers weren't much better. It seemed to be decided that silence would reign until word got back. So they waited. And waited. And waited, visiting the vending machines (which did lighten Mr. Weasley's spirits at least, even if Snape had been near to cursing the 'bloody muggle invention') at least a hundred times.

Harry woke up almost a full day later. He was nearly blinded by all the white. Everything was white. He groaned as he realized he was in a hospital, and almost immediately he was attacked by a red head and a brown, frizzy bush of hair. Harry smirked as he let himself be hugged. He would have hugged them back, but his arms had taken the brunt of Vernon's knife and were wrapped in a good three inches of gauze.

"You had us so worried," Hermione said between sobs.

"Don't do that again," Ron chastised. Harry laughed. They pulled away with wide smiles. "You had us going crazy!" Ron said again. 

"Not like I planned it," Harry replied. His whole body was screaming, especially his back, but he ignored it and tried to concentrate on acting normal. 

"You get to come over, now," Ron said excitedly, nearly bouncing. "Hopefully they let you out soon and then we can get you some half way decent food."

"Mr. Weasley has even insisted we break you out and obliterate the memories of nearly a hundred people," Dumbledore said from a standing position on the wall to Harry's right. Sirius sat on the edge of Harry's bed, his dog head laying on Harry's feet, eyes gazing up, and Remus sat with Hagrid by Dumbledore. Snape and McGonagall were on the farther wall looking at Harry with relief.

"Why didn't you?" Harry asked with a laugh, again, ignoring the throbbing in his chest. He could tell that wasn't the right question. Dumbledore suddenly lost some of his glittering twinkle and became serious.

"You're injuries were quite serious, Harry. When we got there you had no pulse, so we let the paramedics take over. You were dead for fifteen minutes before they brought you back. We decided it was safest for you to stay somewhere where they had those zappy things. If it happened again at Hogwarts or the Weasley's, we wouldn't be able to bring you back." Harry nodded, decidedely uncomfortable with the seriousness in the room. He laughed suddenly, deciding he had to break the tension. Everyone looked far too worried about him. Mrs. Weasley, in a chair to his left, looked ready to either hug him to death or start bawling. Yep, they needed a good laugh. Where were twins when you needed them?

"Something funny about you nearly dying and ruining my weekend plans, Mr. Potter?" Snape demanded, cold but with a line of worry. Harry smiled again.

"I was wondering if you could get a picture of Voldemort's face for me, Professor, when he finds out my muggle uncle actually managed to kill me and all he's managed to do is piss me off. When you think about it, I'm actually pretty lucky that everyone's so prejudice in the world. God forbid, if my uncle didn't hate wizards, and Voldemort didn't hate muggles, the two of them might have actually managed to kill me together." It worked. The adults in the room looked a bit relieved, though they were still far from cracking smiles. Ron and Hermione didn't appear to care about worrying, not so long as Harry was up and smiling. Dumbledore's eyes at least began to twinkle again, for the first time since news came that Harry had been beaten by his uncle.

The pain however was increasing with every laugh and with time, so Harry snuggled back into the covers a bit and rested his chest, taking shallower and quicker breaths to relieve the tension. Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore noticed his discomfort and the level to which he tried to smile through it, and both men frowned. Remus wasn't too far behind.

"I think Harry needs some rest," Dumbledore said quickly, looking pointedly at the children and professors. Taking a hint, they slowly began to leave, though not before Hagrid tried to make a fierce bear hug of his favorite student. Dumbledore had to practically curse him away when he saw Harry flinch as Hagrid's arms circled around the lacerations on his back. 

Remus, the Weasley parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore were all that stayed. Harry was suddenly uncomfortable. All these people he loved like family, and the fact that they had scared away everyone else meant they were looking for a serious discussion, not some nap time. Harry suddenly turned over, a bit too quickly, since he gasped, but he fought the pain down, clamped his eyes shut, and tried to ignore the annoyed, amused, and worried looks he knew he was getting.

"Nice try, kiddo, but you don't get to sleep yet," Sirius said playfully, shaking Harry's feet since the rest of him was covered in bruises. 

Harry pretended to keep sleeping until Sirius suddenly threw a tinkling charm on his feet. Harry woke up laughing, and Sirius immediately dispelled the charm, not wanting to cause more harm. His godfather sat down on the edge of the bed again, in human form, gazing at his godson with a look that rivaled the one he gave him at the Tournament.

"You could have told one of us," Sirius said seriously and with conviction. Great, Harry thought, it's _that _discussion. He wondered if a time-warping charm would be a breech of ethics or misuse of power. Maybe he could obliterate their memories? Maybe there's still a chance he could go into cardiac rest, he thought happily. Unfortunately, he had no wand, wandless magic would alert them to his identity, and his heart, blast it, seemed to be working.

"I'm usually at Hogwarts," Harry replied, "and it's not a problem there."

"You spend two, nearly three months with those monsters," Sirius practically growled. Harry fought the urge to shrink into his covers. He gazed back at Sirius with as much determination as he could muster. Sirius seemed to sense the farce, however, and he immediately checked his voice. "If you told somebody, you could have been spared all of that," he said softly, shaking his head sadly.

"Secrets don't stay in the Wizarding world, and I didn't exactly fancy finding a front page article in the Daily Prophet about my home life. Malfoy would have a ball with it. As though it's not hard enough being a disturbed, dangerous parselmouth with brain damage…"

"Well, one way or another, the secrets out," Remus said quietly, looking into Harry's eyes to decide how he would react to it. Harry nodded.

"I assume being dead in a pool of blood for fifteen minutes on my driveway would attract a reporter or two. I wasn't feeling terribly attractive at the time. Did the pictures at least catch my good side?" Sirius smirked along with Dumbledore.

"I think all your sides were covered in blood," Sirius said, a bit more seriously and with a touch more anger. 

"Keeping that from us, Harry…you could have gotten yourself killed, and by all rights, you did get yourself killed," Dumbledore chastised with his piercing blue eyes. Harry cursed those eyes. He knew why he had done it, why it had to be done, but with those eyes, he found guilt creeping into his system. As though he had honestly done something wrong. Harry had to fight the urge to scoff. They wouldn't have told anybody either. He somehow knew that this approach wouldn't be met well, so he decided to go with a more reasonable approach rather than his classic Godric remarks, which did tend to be sarcastic, flirtatious, and carefree.

"I'm already a near mirror image of the psychopath, I have his parseltongue, we're both orphans, and both our mothers died trying to save us. I didn't exactly want to add growing up in an orphanage to the list of similarities," Harry said with a tired voice. "Fudge would have thrown me in jail and _accused _me of being Voldemort if I took on one more similiarity."

"You're Harry Potter. I'm sure we could have found a suitable place for you to stay, and I could have handled Fudge," Dumbledore replied, saddened by the level of pain Harry exhibited when he talked about his similarities with Voldemort. There were too many. Even Dumbledore would admit that. Far too many similarities.

"I didn't want to be a bother," Harry replied, shaking his head slowly.

"You're never a bother, darling," Mrs. Weasley replied. Harry smiled. She radiated warmth, a natural magic he supposed. 

"Well, you're staying with us now," Mr. Weasley said with a proud smile. "You can teach me more about the fellyfone." Harry smiled a bit wider.

"And Sirius will be staying there along with Remus," Dumbledore added. "I want as many adult wizards in there as possible, and I think it's good for you to have some adults you can turn to." Harry's smiled immediately faded, and everyone blinked.

"What about Voldemort, Professor? Are their wards on their house?" Harry asked. He knew he could always add more, but there was no guarantee that the house would be fool proof against attack, nor any guarantee that he could save everyone in the house from a squad of death eaters. He was powerful, not immortal nor invulnerable, and certainly not beyond error. He didn't fancy the image of Ron dead because he was living there.

"The Weasley's house is nearly as safe as the Dursleys. I've had a team of Aurors putting up the wards, and I was working on them earlier this summer knowing you'd want to stay there for the end of the holiday." Harry nodded and smiled again.

"About your uncle…" and there went his smile again, "the muggle police have arrested him and we're going to leave it to them for now. They should have enough evidence without your testimony, so they shouldn't bother you. If he gets off or if it's a short sentence, we'll try him in a wizarding court. I don't want to do that unless it's necessary. Like you said, the press would have a field day, more so than they are already." Harry nodded.

"How bad is it?" Harry asked fearfully.

"We haven't even shown Ron and Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said quickly, "But since the Slytherins are bound to let you know what's in it anyway, you should probably know." The last part was said with apprehension as she unfolded a paper and handed it to Harry. Harry's smile vanished as he saw himself laying dead on his driveway, and he most certaintly did _not_ look sexy. A wasted photo-op, Harry thought bitterly…Lockhart would have had a heart attack. His eyes finally scanned to the title, and the color left in his face vanished. He quickly began to read while the adults waited patiently, uncomfortable, and worried.

****

Boy Who Lived Raped and Beaten Regularly

Harry Potter, the boy famous for defeating the dark lord and this years Tri-Wizard Tournament winner was found dead in his relatives home this evening by his professors and headmaster. A Hogwarts professor was apparently sent to check on Harry during the summer holiday, and he was found near dead in his room. By all appearances, the boy's uncle had brutally beaten and raped the fourteen year old wizard.

This appears to be no random incident. According to hospital records in the area and neighbors, Harry's abuse is a regular occurrence. Harry has apparently been a sexually and physically abused child since the age of six.

Harry stopped reading after that, a bit of shock and anger coursing through him. He briefly skimmed the rest. They went into detail about his injuries, his death, and how he was brought back by muggle technology. Harry turned to the adults, looking annoyed and borderline furious.

"This is ridiculous," Harry stated, handing the newspaper back to Mrs. Weasley, "He never touched me." Sirius looked at him, looking suddenly relieved.

"What?" he asked, acting like Harry's answer to this question might very well save the world from crumbling. 

"You actually believe that rubbish?" Harry asked in shock. Sirius, if he were the sort to blush, would have about then.

"No, but your uncle…he…when we found you that is…he was trying…"

"He was _trying_," Harry replied with a bit more force, "And I promise it was the first time he ever got drunk enough to try _anything _like that. He abhors everything about me. I'm surprised he had the balls to even think about touching my abnormal skin."

"He never…" Sirius began, but Harry cut him off.

"No," Harry replied fiercely. "Azkaban or not, I would have damn well crucio'ed the fat bastard if he got his blubber anywhere near me when I was even half conscious." Sirius smiled a bit. Everyone else seemed a bit better, too. This meant a lot less scarring they would have to work through to gain Harry's trust, though there was still quite a bit if his beating was any indication. And dealing with the rest of the wizarding world would be horrible for him for awhile. The rumors would be phenomenal if this was what the reporters were declaring.

"You feel better now that I was only beaten to death," Harry said with sarcasm, but his bright smile softened his edge. Sirius smiled at his godson, whose eyes, he noticed, were oddly bright and glittery.

"I'll be setting strict rules next year at Hogwarts. It's necessary with Voldemort back, and I can guarantee that the first person who mocks your home life will be have a year's worth of detention, and that will include any mention of that article. After last night, I dare say Snape, himself, might _expel _Malfoy for a rude comment. What happened to you is no laughing matter, and I don't plan to let it become one, Mr. Potter." 

Harry nodded gratefully to Dumbledore before he began to feel himself being spent. He cuddled into the blankets and began to fall asleep. Sirius transformed again with a slight pop and cuddled onto his godsons feet again, as though to reassure himself that Harry was still there. Everyone else smiled at the small boy before they took up their chairs and waited. The doctor promised to let them know when Harry was stable. So they waited yet again. This time for the doctors.


	4. Bring On the Rain

Own Nothing

**__**

I hate this chapter. It's a bit slow and definitely awkward. I tried to rewrite this completely new four times, and I felt like I was just making it worse everytime, so here it is, for better or worse, another transition chapter that hopefully reveals a bit more about Harry's character, and I also wanted to make it very clear that Harry is **mortal**. He can die, he probably won't in the fic, but I wanted to make it clear why he's not running around challenging Voldemort now that he's powerful. His limits and Voldemort's own powers will begin to emerge as the character developing finally ends. Let me know how badly I screwed this up, and I'm updating it with Chapt 5 as apologies for the suckiness of this chapter. Chapter 5 has some action, and the adults start to notice the changes in Harry. By Ch 6, they'll be extremely worried about him, and Harry will begin to tease them with his abilities as well. 

Chapter Four: Bring On the Rain

Once Harry was stable, the adults felt free to leave to their respective jobs and return later. They took shifts so that there was always a wizard with a portkey near Harry. There weren't nearly enough wards around the hospital to keep Voldemort at bay for long, and with all the articles being written about Harry and his death experience, there was no way he didn't know where Harry was. It was just mere luck that Voldemort had yet to reacquire his legions. His twenty or so loyal death eater weren't enough. He needed his armies back. So Potter would have to wait, especially since half the wizarding world was likely to apparate to their savior's side if he sneezed too hard.

Ron and Hermione came every other day to visit him. Everything was beginning to heal up, and the doctors finally declared him ready to go home, even if he did have an extensive list of things he'd have to do at the Weasley's. Mrs. Weasley took responsibility for the list. She was going to change bandages, watch the injuries, clean out the scars, and all the rest of the good stuff. While Harry didn't fancy exploring his extensive injuries, he didn't feel much better knowing Mrs. Weasley would be doing it. Harry stayed under the covers most of the time, and the doctors shooed everyone out before getting to work, so most of Harry's injuries remained a secret, along with all of his older scars.

Harry was still furious about the article, and he wrote a deliciously nasty letter to the Daily Prophet threatening to sue unless they issued a retraction. So they issued a retraction apologizing for the mistake. They assured everyone that his uncle had only _tried_ to rape him, and concentrated much more on the seriousness of his beatings. It had been two weeks and they were still printing his horrid picture on the front page. Maybe Lockhart would have been proud.

Finally Harry was declared good enough to go home, much to Harry's relief. Dumbledore decided to be cautious, so he wanted to wait until Harry was cleared to leave by doctors, and Pomfrey insisted that magic and science were too similar to get along well. So only the occasional charm and potion was given, just enough to speed up the broken bones.

Nursing attendants helped Harry downstairs to the lobby of the hospital, and from there the Weasleys took him outside, and they all took a portkey. Harry hated portkeys, but short of apparating and giving himself away, he knew he didn't have a choice. So it was with some force that he slammed into the burrow, falling as his legs gave way. Bill and Charlie were there almost immediately to catch him and guide him over to a waiting sofa. 

"Thanks," Harry said with a bit of nauseous look still glued on his face. 

"You really don't look like you like portkeys," Ron said with a slight smile masking a bit of concern.

"Lets just say I'll be relieved when I can apparate," Harry replied.

"Got a couple years till that," Hermione said swiftly, running over from the kitchen with Ginny and a thick monster of a book. 

"I know, I know," Harry responded, "And until then its spinning fireplaces and crash landings."

"Ron dear, bring Harry upstairs and let him rest a bit. Dinner will be ready in an hour," Mrs. Weasley said softly but in a demanding tone. Ron, Harry, and Hermione raced up the stairs. Fred and George appeared from their rooms and smiled maliciously before ducking back in followed quickly by explosions.

"I don't think I'd eat anything they give you," Ron said, glaring at the door, barely even noticing his protectiveness nor the black dog who was growling as he passed the twin's door. Sirius had told them, their parents had told them, even Snape had threatened them, not to go anywhere near Harry with those trick treats. Sirius had essentially become Harry's bodyguard since that night, much to Harry's dismay. There were spells he had to start. He pat Sirius on the head anyway, loving the old mutt even if he was an inconvenience. 

The rest of the night went by smoothly. Ron and Harry played a bit of qujiddich, though Mrs. Wealsey made them promise to stay low to the ground. Remus and Sirius insisted on watching the game to make sure Harry didn't push himself or disobey Mrs. Weasley, as they knew damn well he would have done had they not been there. Harry's movements were a bit jerkier than usual, but he still beat them. All Ron's wins in chess throughout their hospital visits, however, had made up for the crushing defeat.

Dinner had been huge and delicious. Mrs. Wealsey insisted on stacking Harry's plate over and over. The Dursleys had starved him again and the hospital was practically facing accusations of child abuse for the rotten food they had shoved at him. Harry felt a bit queezy after everything, but he managed. A wandless digestion spell, and he was fine. Afterwards, they played a bit exploding snap, and Harry explained some muggle technology to Mr. Weasley. 

Later that night, all the kids (meaning under eighteen and still in school) were sent to bed, except for Harry who had to go through his extensive list of medical crap. A few muggle things were traded for magical ones. All his bones were healed with magic, and some of his painkillers and sleeping pills were switched with potions Snape had made him, and probably poisoned. Next, Harry took off his shirt and allowed Mrs. Weasley to go through the list of changing everything. It was odd being that vulnerable and naked. Scars criss-crossed his chest and totally covered his back. Sirius growled again and raised his hackles. Finally, after everyone was done staring at his wounds in shock, Harry went upstairs and fell fast asleep.

The rest of the summer was similar. School was arriving and Harry had finally stopped being front page news (though he remained popular on the third page.) The Diagon trip was planned in two days, and Harry was on his way to full recovery. Madame Pomfrey and Snape had worked together with their magical cures and managed to reduce most of his scars, but the deeper and more recent ones on his arms and a few on his back remained. He was allowed to play Quidditch in the air now, much to the Weasley's joy. Even Bill and Charlie joined in the games, though they made Harry play keeper because he was too quick on the broom and the games always ended too quickly. 

The Twins nearly gave everyone heart attacks, but they tried to stay away from their investor. A few treats here and there they snuck into Harry's food. No one was too upset till they pulled a trick on him called Demented Dementer. Harry was suddenly eight feet tall with black robes, scaly grey skin and extremely clumsy, hence demented. Everyone hollered at them for it, and Sirius eventually got back with some of his own stunts. He turned their skin pink with blue hair and made them glow neon throughout the night. They complained for a full week about sleep deprivation due to the intense lighting throughout the wee hours. Mrs. Weasley took five rolls of film, at least. She figured she could blackmail them with it later.

The house was quiet at the moment. Everyone was sleeping, or almost everyone. Harry pried his eyes open and looked around. He spotted Sirius lying on the rug in his dog form, and he quickly threw a wandless sleep charm over him. He did the same to Ron as he slowly uncocooned himself from the blankets and stood to his weary feet. He crept through the halls and down the stairs, careful to avoid all the creaks, which he was a professional at, considering his cousin's weight had all but broken their stairs in half. When he reached the kitchen, he slid the glass door open with ease and stepped into the cool night air. 

He had been waiting for this night all summer. The moon was full and slightly orange, glowing with magic and majesty in the damp night air. The rain had been on and off all day, which was even more perfect. Harry's feet melted into the wet strands of grass as he continued to walk through the Weasley lawn and into a field nearby. The grass and weeds brushed by his calves, but the life mingling around him was so intoxicating that he didn't notice. He made his way to the middle of the field where he felt a fierce wave of magic begin to percolate within him. The center of the field, of its life force. This would be the spot.

Without further ado, he laid down in the weeds with the rough stems attacking his hair and skin. He spread his arms out and kept his legs straight. His eyes shut slowly, and he began to chant. 

"Earth, air, fire, water…earth, air, fire, water…earth, air, fire, water," he whispered over and over, each time a bit louder and a bit more distanced. The magic within him was nearly exploding as he felt the moon's rays slide over his sleek form, felt the rain in his veins flowing through him like blood. The earth beneath his head was embracing him in a lover's hold, and the life of the forest, of the people living nearby, everything about life was burning into his heart and mind like fire. Without opening his eyes, he could see the world around him clearer than ever before. He could feel the centipede in the ground, sense the love between two lovebirds in the trees. He was connecting to the life of earth, and earth accepted him like an old friend.

His voice reached a peak that was slightly more whispered than a shout, and then softened as he reached his peak of power and began to invoke the earth, the air, the water, the fire that was flooding through him. Their powers invigorated him, and a knowing smile curled his lips as he called for the rain to come to him, and a downpour began to wipe the beads of perspiration from his forehead. He opened his eyes slowly and held out his hand. He called for fire, invoking the passion of life he had felt within him, and a silver fire roared in his palm.

Harry looked to the sky. The moon was glowing a nearly blinding white now, communing with Harry. He smiled, whispered a thank you to the elements that allowed his touch, his life to mingle with theirs, and he stood to his feet. His head spun a bit as he considered everything he'd just done, everything he would do. One part of him was inexpressibly happy. He felt whole again, like his powers had filled a gap in his life, a gaping hole in his very being. That was filled. But on the other head, the enormity, the responsibility…he felt it like a ton of bricks weighing on his chest. 

"The games have begun," a feminine voice stated off to his right. The boy whipped around quickly, his gaze setting expectantly on the Light as she took a solid form, her red robes billowing around her as she eyed Harry anxiously.

"Not yet," Harry replied with a slight sigh. "This is just the warm-up." The woman smiled at him sweetly, already sensing his thoughts.

"It's fine to be nervous, Harry," she commented, but Harry's gaze become harder, much more stubborn and appropriate for denial purposes.

"I'm not," he declared, sounding so sure of himself even as his eyes glared holes into the ground. The Lady fought the urge to laugh. The perfect warrior indeed.

"Yea, why would you be? A nearly immortal menace running around invoking dark spirits, why would that worry you?" she asked, laughing softly before she forced Harry's chin up with a delicate but commanding finger. "You're only human. No one, not even I expect anything more or less from you than that. It's alright to be scared."

"I've dealt with evil before," he commented, "It's my purpose, remember, Lady?" The woman frowned, but nodded nonetheless, trying to keep her wits about her and remember that he was her only choice.

"How could I forget?" she asked softly. Harry looked up then, not used to her sounding mournful or the least bit regretful. He blinked as he eyed her, watched her eyes fill with remorse before they finally settled on a practiced blank look. He sighed again before looking into her eyes.

"I was serious. I've dealt with goddesses and dark mages before. This is just another walk in the park," he joked, flashing a smile that seemed to warm the skies.

"You are mortal, Mr. Potter, and I pray you remember that you have died before, and it is possible to die again." She was back to being playful, as well, but her underlying message was sincere and chastising. Harry had Arthur's shyness and humble modesty, but he had a good deal of Godric's idiotic bravery to balance the king's reasoning abilities. She didn't want to watch the idiot child run head long into a battle, but Harry seemed to remember his death all too clearly, one of the few memories from Arthur's life that was apparently quite vivid for him. His eyes were a bit clouded over for a moment, pain flashing through him as he remembered death, momentarily longing for it, before he came back into himself and smiled. His Godric persona always smiled. If hell rose, if the devil himself made the sky fall down, he would have smiled. 

"I'll be careful, Lady," Harry promised, and the woman smiled thankfully.

"Don't go after him until you're ready for that," she suggested, and Harry smiled again before he shrugged.

"And, pray tell, how many more invocations do you expect me to pull before I'll be ready? I already have the earth, the skies, the fire, and air. You want me to invoke more? It's crowded enough in there as it is," he stated with a laugh.

"I imagine so, but that's not what I meant," the Light replied. "Don't do it until you're ready to accept it. You haven't told anyone, yet, Harry. Your godfather, your friends, your adopted family…if you're not ready to tell them the truth, then you're not ready to lead the world in this battle." She watched Harry carefully then, watching the guarded look of denial return. Bloody hell, she thought. Maybe accusing him of not being prepared was a bad way to deal with the issues of male egoism.

"I want my powers to be a surprise for Voldemort. I'm perfectly capable of leading the battle, I'm merely choosing my moment." The Light smiled at him, knowing he would drive her crazy before eternity found its end.

"You trust those people with your life they trust you with theirs. Pray tell, unless you expect one of them to run off and tell Voldemort about your abilities, how are your lying to them and trying to surprise Voldemort in anyway connected?" Harry passed her a death glare that could practically kill in its own right before he remembered himself and allowed the gaze to break. He slumped a bit, posture falling from regal to distinctly teenager. 

"The powers are fine and all. I'm used to them, I feel…I don't know…more complete with them. I just…I'm not ready for all the attention, all the fame…as though I don't have enough already with the bloody newspapers printing that horrid photo everywhere."

"Take your time Harry. There are ways to fight from the shadows until your ready. Invocations, inventions, reading up on Voldemort's semi-immortality…there are ways to amuse yourself." The boy nodded and smiled at her.

"Thanks, but I much rather play Quidditch, thank you very much," he responded playfully. The Light rolled her eyes.

"That asinine game? Oh lord, and you're their savior? Heaven help them." Harry gave a mock growl before throwing a water ring at the Lady, who quickly vaporized it and tossed a fire ball at him with a throaty laugh that coated the air with its sweet sound. 

For the casual observer, the two were trying to kill one another, spells flying one way then the other, invoked elements being formed and hurled. They knew each other's limits however, or rather, the Light knew Harry's limits. The Lady, herself, didn't particularly have any. She was immortal. She loved sparing with the boy, however, and she could tell Harry enjoyed it. Play fighting reminded them both of the beauty of magic, the power of it. By the end of the night, Harry was much more relaxed, his elements properly trained. He was more at ease with them, and the new powers seemed to be quite at home. 

After a good hour of spells and manifestations, the Light finally bid ado, throwing a well placed numb charm at Harry before disappearing into the white mist of morning. Harry hollered as his leg crumpled from beneath him. He hated that, but it is well known that payback's a bitch, so he uncast himself and hobbled a bit towards the house, his gait a bit more confidant. He had her permission to wait before making himself known, before taking up his position as a general in the war. He also felt his lives meld a bit more evenly as he called on their various knowledge and powers, finding certain personalities and characteristics emerging in certain situations. He was about to become the man he was born to be in this lifetime. 

He smiled as he headed towards the house. He knew none of his lifetimes would be easy, none of them simple, and he knew he was going to have to kill Rita Skeeter before the war's end, but he felt inexpressibly strong in that moment, the elements swimming beneath his skin, the adrenaline pumping…a bit more time, and he would be ready. Just a bit more, and he would head into his destiny with banners a-waving. Once he got the balls to actually let people know about his powers that is. He flinched as the image of awe struck family came to mind, but then he forced himself to relax. Right now, everything was perfect.


	5. Diagon Alley

Nothings mine. A bit more action in this one for you. I still have to introduce a few people (no one you haven't heard about before) and then get Harry a few more powers. It's a complicated web, sort of, and Harry's complicated, so I hope I'm not boring you all. Let me know if I begin to ramble or if my writing seems to be falling short. Hope you like this chapter.

Chapter Five: Diagon Alley and The Invocation of Spirit

"You look rested," Hermione observed as she marched into the kitchen bright and early. Harry was sitting in a chair, back straight, eyes glittering, and his movements confident and majestic. He looked at Hermione and flashed a smile that radiated warmth.

"Had a good night," he replied. 

"About time," Ron commented as he marched downstairs with a black dog behind him. "You looked a wreck yesterday." Harry nodded. He had invoked the elements the night before, and he had been up all night focusing the magic, remembering how to control it and use it. Everyone had given him a hard time about the circles under his eyes, but last night he had slept like a baby, reassured in his ability to use his powers.

"Well, eat quickly," Mrs. Weasley said with a smile, "We'll be leaving for Diagon Alley soon. Are the twins up yet?"

"Don't think so," Ron responded. Mrs. Weasely sighed and started up the stairs where pounding and shouting could be heard. Within seconds two sleepy eyed twins sat at the table and started to pile on the food. Everyone threw Sirius some scraps as he buried his head in people's laps and whined pathetically. Mrs. Weasley always made him food, but he gobbled it down too fast.

"Where shall we go first?" Ron asked, turning to Harry and Hermione. 

"Flourish and Blotts. I want to see how much the OWL practice books are." Moaning resounded throughout the table like an echo.

"You can't start studying before Christmas," Ron said indiginantly.

"Why not?"

"Cause it's a law," Ron said with a slight plea in his voice. "Students don't start studying for exams in the beginning of the year. Are you crazy? They'll make you head girl if you're not careful."

"God forbid," Bill said with a smile as he entered the kitchen and grabbed a plate. Charlie and Bill had both gotten the summer off. With Voldemort back, they wanted to stay with the family, and Dumbledore had used his influence to get them the time so there would be more adult wizards in the house.

"Are you going with us?" Harry asked, looked at Bill and Charlie as he entered with his hair a tangled mess.

"We're going with ya, but we're going to have to separate. I need some stuff in Knockturn alley," Charlie said quickly. "I wish they had dragon hide in Diagon Alley. I hate Knockturn Alley." Harry nodded, remembering all too clearly his mistake floo fireplace.

"You lot ready yet?" Mr. Weasley asked quickly, putting the paper down as he walked into the room with a coffee mug in one hand. Harry glanced at the paper, his confidence faltering as his Harry lifetime took prominence. This would be his first time facing the wizarding world since his uncle had made him a front page story. He suddenly lost his appetite and just stared at the paper looking as though it claimed the end of the world.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, nudging him in the ribs. Harry barely felt it. The public eye was something he always lived with, but in none of his lifetimes had anyone dared to publicly humiliate them. They would have been too scared to try. The thought of facing the whispers, the rumors, the snickers, brought a wave of fresh humiliation and fear, something he almost never felt for himself at least. In response, he subconsciously began to call his powers, and it took a lot of self-control to keep them in check as he tried to calm down. When he sensed his calm beginning to falter, he cast a calming spell immediately and began to breathe again. 

The rest of the table was a bit shell shocked, looking at Harry with something of awe and questioning. Everyone had turned at the level of anxiety in Hermione's voice, and they saw Harry looking at the paper, and they realized why he was suddenly nervous, but then a wave of power had passed over the room, like Dumbledore was standing somewhere allowing his full powers to bloom. Except that Dumbledore wasn't there, and Harry wasn't radiating all of his powers. 

"Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked softly. The power suddenly disappeared as Harry cast the calming charm, leaving everyone just staring and Sirius's mouth hanging open. Harry gathered up his confidence and powers and smiled sweetly.

"Yea?" he asked innocently, as though he had no idea what had just happened.

"You alright there?" Ron asked. Harry nodded and stood to his feet with his head held high and his movements swift but graceful. 

"Yea, why wouldn't I be?" Harry asked with a smile. "Ya done yet? I really want to see what Ollivander's got."

"Why Ollivander's? You already got a wand," Hermione pointed out. Harry nodded.

"I want another one," he said without hesitation as he walked out of the room and sat down on a sofa, leaving everyone's eyes to just follow him, him and his glittering eyes, which they noticed looked brighter than usual, even brighter than the glitter Dumbledore had. They finished quickly and in silence. Sirius went over to Harry on the couch and put his head in the boy's lap. Harry pet him and tried not to think about anything except petting him. He couldn't loose control of his emotions again. It was too dangerous to reveal himself now. Voldemort expected to be fighting a child, everyone expected Harry to be a child. It was a perfect hussle. He'd be damned if he lost his edge. Not to mention that spilling his secret would put those he loved in peril. Voldemort would be after anyone who might know anything about Harry, especially when he found out that Harry was no longer Harry necessarily.

"All set, then?" Harry asked as everyone came back into the room, a bit more normally. 

"Ready when you are," Ron replied. They each grabbed some floo powder and jumped into the green, tickling flames. Sirius went with Harry as a dog. The more adults around Harry, the better. They tumbled out into the Leaky Cauldron, and everyone went eerily silent as they turned to look at Harry. Their eyes raked his unscarred skin, his glittering eyes, and the smile he flashed, radiating warmth once again. The Light had once said that with all the magic in the world, Harry's greatest gift was his natural charm magic. He had to agree. 

Everyone else smiled back, looking a bit shocked. Harry allowed some of his powers to escape into his smile purposefully, and everyone remained quiet. Normally, the gossip would have begun along with the whispered rumors, but there was something about Harry's eyes, about the boys smile, about the way he held himself now that made everyone think better of it. Even with warmth radiating from his charming looks, there was a most definite threat of power in his eyes. He looked nearly regal in stance. 

He stepped away from the fireplace with the large black dog at his heels. The rest of the Weasley's tumbled out, and they all headed into Diagon Alley together. Harry maintained his farce as they headed towards Gringotts. Heads turned everywhere they went, but Harry didn't even blink, even if he was screaming on the inside, and no one uttered a word about him. Even after Harry had passed, people were fearful of gossiping about the boy with the glittering eyes. 

"Alright, you three, we'll meet you back here in two hours," Mrs. Weasley said sternly, "and Snuffles is going to go with you," she added. The dog nodded viciously and licked at Harry's hands.

"Yes, mum," Ron replied, already walking away with the Harry and Hermione towards the book store.

"We had to come here first?" Ron asked with distaste as they slid among the dusty books.

"Just let her get the bloody book, and then maybe she'll stop buggering us about it," Harry responded with a smile. His smile widened when he noticed the stern disapproval on Sirius's face. "Bloody hell, what's wrong with Snuffles?" Harry joked. Sirius growled playfully, his eyes a mix of amusement and parental disagreement.

"Language," Hermione scolded from behind a huge book that she could barely lift. Sirius seemed appeased and walked over to give her hands a lick. She giggled softly, still clutching the book as she looked through it.

"It's a wonder she doesn't have pectorals the size of Europe with all the books she lifts," Ron said sadly, shaking his head.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, turning a bit serious. Ron's eyes were tinged with anger, fear, and sadness. It was an odd mixture to find in Ron, who was usually so sure of himself.

"Nothing," Ron replied. "Why would something be wrong?"

"Ron, you've been fidgeting ever since Hermione uttered the cursed three letter word."

"Book isn't a three letter word," Ron replied.

"OWL's," Harry responded, rolling his eyes a bit. "You've been acting weird since she mentioned the OWL's." Ron suddenly looked a bit sheepish.

"You wouldn't understand," Ron replied irritably. Harry was a bit taken aback and showed it.

"What wouldn't I understand?"

"You don't have anyone you have to impress with your scores. No brothers to beat, no head boy hanging over your head…"

"No parents to be proud of me," Harry mumbled. Ron turned a bit red, looking apologetic.

"Sorry, Harry, I didn't mean…"

"I know, Ron, and don't worry about it. You'll do fine. We'll start studying at a more sane time," Harry replied, feeling a bit nervous himself. Ron would be extremely jealous if Harry got a better score than he did, and Harry was most certain to get the highest score, probably to set a record. On the other hand, Harry would be the best tutor Ron could possibly find. Learning from the great Merlin and founder of Hogwarts…surely Harry could help boost his scores a bit, seeing as how he helped write OWL's back when he was founder.

"You boys all set?" Hermione called, walking over to them with four huge bags. "I took the liberty of getting your books since you two seemed to be in slow motion. I put them on your tabs." Harry and Ron nodded, taking the bags and shuffling out of the store. They headed towards Ollivander's next, deciding to go there, then to the robe shop, then to get their new potions ingredients. They were nearly to Ollivander's door when a huge rumble from down the street knocked Ron and Hermione to the ground.

"What the …" Ron began, turning around in time to see twenty death eaters casting curses at the wizards and the wizarding shops.

"Oh my God," Hermione mumbled, shocked to a stand still. Harry turned and did an assessment. There were at least twenty, they probably had anti-apparition wards up and probably blocked the floo. Just dandy for back to school shopping, he thought bitterly. He shook his head before he leaned down to pull the other two to their feet.

"We got to go," Harry stated forcefully, knocking them from their stupor and pushing them towards Ollivanders. Sirius transformed and began ushering them in faster, facing the death eaters and watching for the curses. A stupefy flew to Harry's left and a crucio nearly hit Ron. Finally, they got into Ollivanders. Sirius pushed them further into the store, beyond the shelves of wands and into the back where there was a work bench and a clean cement floor.

"Stay here. No matter what happens out there, stay in here," Sirius demanded, looking dead into Harry's eyes. Harry nodded, wondering how the hell he was supposed to get out of here and help. Sirius went back into a dog and ran back towards the front door to join the fray. 

"How did they get into Diagon Alley?" Ron asked.

"They're wizards, Ron," Hermione replied, as though that explained it all.

"I know that," Ron responded harshly.

"Now isn't the time to be fighting," Harry replied strictly. The two shut up immediately. "I'll be right back," he added. Both Ron and Hermione jumped to their feet, looking prepared to tackle him. Harry sighed, wondering if a well aimed stupefy would ruin their friendship.

"You're not going out there, Harry," Hermione stated.

"That's what they'd want," Ron added. Harry resisted the urge to smile. They wouldn't want him once they knew what he was capable of, and he did plan to give them a taste. 

He turned back to the problem at hand, his friends. Godric had always been forceful, he had grown up with his powers, but there was a time and a place for him. Right now, Harry settled on a more diplomatic approach: lying his ass off and misdirection.

"They're attacking the shops, and I don't fancy being here when they attack this one. There must be a basement or something. I'm going to go look for it. I'll be right back," Harry promised, looking into their eyes and smiling, radiating warmth. "I won't wonder off." And that was it. Harry spoke in a way that booked no argument, as though he were used to giving commands that no one questioned, but Ron and Hermione looked skeptical, apparently less impressed with his abilities than most were. All his closest friends could see through him, though. He sighed, deciding to give it one last shot before he did use magic against them. "Maybe we could split up and look for something. Whoever finds it, send up sparks." The other two nodded, happier now that they had a part in the mission.

They split up quickly, frantically searching for a trap door or a ladder, something that went up or down. Harry already knew where the trap door would be, probably where Ollivander was, so he went directly there, sent up the sparks, and doubled around as Ron and Hermione were heading there. He heard them open the door and call his name into the darkness, and then they moved into the basement, still calling for him. 

Harry, as he walked towards the front through the wands, quickly called his personamigus. It was rare to be able to turn into different people at will without spells or potions like polyjuice, but the image Harry was taking on was Godric, it was himself, so the process was easier. His features became older, looking set at a twenty three. His green eyes were harder but brighter, fierce with power. His robes began to billow out and turned into silken battle robes, a bloody scarlet color trimmed with gold. He pulled his hood up and fastened it so that his face was held in shadow. He was older as Godric, but the black raven hair and green eyes would be a dead give away no matter who he was.

He finally reached the door and ducked out, observing the scene before him. The Order of the Phoenix seemed to have arrived. Fifty wizards in scarlet robes were firing curses at the Death Eaters while trying to get the civilians out of the street. Dumbledore stood towards the front line, eyes furious, power radiating. The Death Eaters tried to steer clear of him, but his anger tended to lash out. Duels were happening everywhere. Sirius, he noted, was too busy chewing ankles to worry too much about magic. 

Harry took a step towards the battle, eyes set and furious, before he faltered, his gaze softening and settling on Dumbledore again. He took a deep breath, trying to settle the unease that had settled in his stomach. It was actually fear that was threatening to overrun him, but he would never admit to that. No. It was unease he claimed to feel as he watched the old man weave through the ranks, curses jetting from his wand. He was their hero right now. They rallied behind him. Mr. Weasley fought nearly side by side with him. Harry smiled. They were all terribly brave and fool hardy. The number of Death Eaters were beginning to increase. 

Harry made his decision. This wouldn't be his debut. They weren't ready nor did they need him just yet, and truth be told, Harry wasn't ready for that responsibility. His Harry persona was still queasy at the thought of all that power, all the fame. So instead, he ducked behind a street vendors cart and knelt, palms open and out, eyes closed. Back to misdirection.

He began to chant, "By the power of three by three, protector of the Light, I invoke thee…Surround me, Enchant me, Protect me…By the power of three by three, protector of the Light, I invoke thee…" He felt his insides being invaded as he invoked the Light. The Light combined with the elements, and he fought to maintain control. It wasn't easy. Forcing two invocations to remain separate is like forcing two opposite magnets apart. Harry felt like he was in a tug-a-war. His body was being ripped apart by the force of the powers within him. The Light was too powerful to hold for long, and certainly not with the elements. He had to work fast.

He called the protection spell and began to think of all Diagon Alley meant to him. The essence of the wizarding world…acceptance…community…home…Diagon Alley was his home. Harry forced his memories into the spirits. He forced them to see through his eyes, opened his heart to their hearts, and allowed them to feel what he felt the day Hagrid opened up the brick wall, his first glimpse at his world. Everyone belonged here. He had been accepted when no one else wanted him. The power was ready to rip through him. Harry could feel his wrists beginning to bleed as the magic tried to escape. His blood was beginning to pool. Just a bit longer. He chanted again, concentrating every molecule of his being on the protection spell. His body was going to be torn to little pieces. He couldn't breath suddenly, and still, he found breath enough to chant. When the pain should have shut his brain down and faltered his concentration, Harry concentrated harder. 

"By the power of three by three, I charge thee, surround, enchant, protect…surround, enchant, protect." Harry dared to take the chance, he peaked around the street cart he was hiding behind. Dumbledore had been forced into retreat as he tried to save his men. The Death Eaters had nearly multiplied. Mr. Weasley was running towards a child still stuck in the war path, crying pathetically on the curb. Then everything went slow motion. Mr. Weasley running, his feet pounding against the asphault…the child screaming, holding his arms out for someone to save him…the future holding out his hands to be saved…Dumbledore shaking his head and trying to grab the back of Arthur's robes before he broke rank and went for the child…the Death Eater raising his wand…the green light filling the street…the feeling of destiny being altered, of the dark preparing to win…the look on Bill's face as he watched his father head straight for the child…generations screaming, preparing to die…the green light heading straight for Arthur…surround, enchant, protect…Mr. Weasley reaching for the child…the sickening feeling that everything was wrong, was off…surround, enchant, protect…the green light inches away…this is not supposed to happen…surround, enchant, protect…Mrs. Weasley screaming…surround, enchant, protect…the avadra kedavra suddenly disappearing in a puff of white Light...and the stunned faces of everyone as the Death Eaters disappeared. 

"Oh my God!" Mrs. Weasley's screaming intensified as she ran towards her husband, who put the boy down and pointed towards a store where his mother had been ushered earlier. She grabbed her husband by the robes and crushed him in a hug.

"Oh my God," an auror near by commented, gazing at where the Death Eater's had been. In their stead was a wall of unbroken Light, melding and forming a ward against violence and hatred that surrounded the street. The white Light began to expand, going through the shops, surrounding the stores, and encircling all of Gringotts before it stopped short of Knockturn Alley. The light formed its last vital links of protection, zapping its last necessary strength from Harry, before it finally dispelled and disappeared. Harry fell forward, exhausted. He breathed heavily, in and out, putting a cap on his powers once again as he released his control on his elements and forced out the last of the invocation of the Light. Harry slowly crept back into the store, returning to his Harry persona.

"Where have you been?!" Hermione shouted, running towards him.

"Looking for two. I found the trap door," Harry added, trying not to look tired.

"Were you running around trying to look for us?" Ron asked, looking with confusion as Harry sucked in a deep breath.

"I was worried," Harry replied.

"You all okay?" Sirius asked quickly, marching in with battered robes and a cut across his cheek. Everyone nodded. Sirius looked particularly long at Harry who nodded and smiled again. His blood letting had been ritual, the spell had soaked up some of his blood to force the protection spell, so the cuts on his wrists had healed over once the spell had ended. The only cause for concern was Harry's heaving breathing.

"I'm fine," Harry insisted. "Just a bit too much excitement for a back to school trip. I guess I'm a bit out of shape," Harry said with a smile.

"Are you sure?" Sirius asked. Harry nodded, and finally Sirius nodded too. "It's safe now, we can head back out." They all followed Sirius, who transformed into Snuffles, out and walked into the Alley. Families were hugging, aurors were smiling, and shop keepers were looking very relieved. Everyone, however, was giving Dumbledore looks of pure admiration, and many of the aurors were walking up to him and asking him questions, awe written clear as day on their faces. Dumbledore was beside the Weasley family, and the more people came up to ask him questions, the more frustrated he seemed, though he hid it best he could. 

"Everyone, everyone!" an auror shouted, "Please be quiet. Headmaster Dumbledore has put up a ward around Diagon Alley. We're just going to test it right now, make sure it's still there," an auror shouted, wearing the robes of the ministry. Dumbledore looked at him crossly, but he ignored the old man. He and another auror stood across from each other and pointed their wands at one another, then threw curses at each other. Each curse disippated into white Light before it hit the other person. Finally, they threw the unforgivables, and each one was forced to disappear. Harry could only shake his head at the show of idiocy. Throwing death curses at one another? Harry suddenly wondered if it would be unethical to take the wards down just to rid the world of these morons. God forbid they survive and breed. Harry would have to deal with their offspring in his next lifetime and would regret not letting them kill each other. The crowd, however, was appeased and began cheering for Dumbledore as it was announced officially that no violence could be done in Diagon Alley.

"Let's get out of here, shall we?" Dumbledore said in a rush as he neared Sirius and the children. Behind him was the Weasley's, Arthur still a bit pale, and then there was Snape and Minerva. 

"We'll meet you back at the house," Bill said quickly, looking at Sirius, who nodded and began to trot off to the Leaky Cauldron while the adults apparated.

"Quite the spell, Mr. Potter. Care to tell us how you did it?" Dumbledore asked with amusement the second Harry walked away from the fireplace. Everyone's mouths dropped open, especially Snape's. Harry cast a shocked look at Dumbledore as he walked elegantly from the fireplace in time for Sirius and Ron to turn up followed by Hermione.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry replied. "What spell?"

"The ward," Dumbledore replied with a light chuckle.

"Headmaster, he's just a child," Snape spat.

"If you're worried about the publicity…" McGonagall began.

"That's a very complicated spell, and I assure you, had I cast it, you would have seen me do it. I would have been bleeding all of the place. There's a ritual blood letting in most protection wards of that magnitude. You look a bit peaked, Harry."

"I don't exactly have a good relationship with Death Eaters, professor. I'm sorry if I seem pale, but I assure you it's not from a blood letting. I don't even know what a blood letting is."

"Are you admitting to being scared, Potter?" Snape demanded with glee. Harry turned on him and gave him a look that would have frozen his generals and knights back in Arthur's days. Snape seemed to get the idea because he looked at Harry in a dazed stupidity. That's a first, Harry thought with a smile. Snape looking dumbfounded. He had to fight the urge to summon a camera.

"Easy for you to say, professor. They would just kill you. I don't even want to think what Voldemort would do if he caught me alive. I imagine he's still a bit bitter about the Tournament."

"Somebody had to do that spell," Mr. Weasley said quietly, gazing intently at Harry, "And I owe my life to whoever it was."

"Don't look at me. The three of us were in Ollivander's," Harry responded.

"You disappeared," Hermione stated quietly, a look of awe already in her eyes. Harry didn't want to be envied by his friends. He hated it. He leveled a look at her. Ron remained quiet, and Harry knew he would remain quiet until he knew what Harry was up to. 

"Where did you go?" Sirius demanded. "I told you to stay together."

"You told us to stay put," Harry corrected. "You never mentioned staying together."

"If he told the three of you to stay in one spot, Potter, then it can be assumed that should you have followed his directions, you three would have _been_ together."

"We were looking for a trap door," Ron threw in, clearly thinking he was helping Harry out of a jam with Snape, but Ron didn't realize how special that trap door was.

"How did you find that?" McGonagall asked immediately, looked at the three children, stunned.

"What do you mean? It couldn't have been very well hidden. Harry found it in a matter of seconds," Hermione said quickly. The adults turned to Harry again, who fought the urge to dismiss them as the king he was or curse them like the wizard he could become.

"That trap door is disguised. I'd love to know how you found it," McGonagall commented. Harry shrugged.

"I'm a seeker, I have good eye sight."

"And the ward?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"I suggest asking someone above fifth year," Harry added dryly in a regal tone.

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said, "I shouldn't have accused you. You're right. You're too young to even know what kind of spell that was." The words were said, but there was a glittering in Dumbledore's eye the seemed to tell Harry he knew Harry had done it, he just didn't know how…yet. 

"Not a problem. I'm going to go get ready for bed," Harry replied quickly, and the kids all headed upstairs, the twins telling the adults to clear the way for the Mystical Mage, Merlin. Harry fought the urge to turn into Merlin and complete their joke. He did, however, cast an ease dropping spell on the room to amplify what the adults said. As he snuggled into his bed on the floor, he could hear Mrs. Weasley handing out tea.

"It was him," Mr. Weasley said quietly. "I felt memories wash over me when the white Light formed in front of me. They were his memories from when Hagrid brought him to Diagon Alley."

"He's too young," Snape protested. 

"He's been acting different, though," Sirius said quietly. "He's been more…I don't know…"

"Authoritative," Bill added. "Certain mannerisms he has now are very controlled and look practiced. His voice can sound very controlling when he wants it to. It's like he's used to giving orders."

"But he's still a sweetie," Mrs. Weasley added. "I don't know. Breakfast today was a bit weird, I'll admit."

"What happened?" Dumbledore asked, perking up.

"I think he was nervous about being in the wizarding world again after his uncle," Mr. Weasley replied. "I caught him looking at the newspaper this morning like someone had hit him with a bludger. Then this wave of power and searing heat swept over the room, and when Molly called him, it immediately disappeared again."

"Why don't we just ask him to do it everywhere, then?" McGonagall asked. "That sort of a spell could protect Hogsmead, Hogwarts…" but Dumbledore was already shaking his head.

"It was a risk for him to even try it that once," he insisted. "There are certain spells that can't be done more than once, and that's one of them. It takes too much out of a wizard. A part of Harry is put into that ward, a part of his memories, some of his power, his blood…he can't do it again without loosing possibly too much of who he is."

"We don't even know that he was the one who did it," Snape barked, the very thought of Potter being capable of saving his life being difficult to swallow.

"Well, he certainly won't admit it," Sirius said, "and there's not much we can do other than speculate. Maybe he's just coming into his powers and really has no idea what's going on."

"That spell is an invocation," Dumbledore said plainly as the others gasped slightly. "Whoever did that spell knew exactly what they were doing."

"What do you want us to do?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Just keep an eye out," Dumbledore replied, his voice sounding very tired.

Harry groaned inwardly before he uncast his spell and decided to get some sleep. Would he ever get some peace, he wondered bitterly before he allowed darkness to overwhelm him.


End file.
